So what was supposed to be a simple task of getting a local sim card... turns into one of those “ah ha” moments. Our guide JR has just taken us past a security guard into a bank called Fonkoze. The goal: get some local money.
We go in and sit down. Queuing. I know how to do that. I thought it would be a great time to start a lesson in observation of how locals do transactions.
What most people were saying was just noise and I pay attention to their body language. Trying to study it. My fondness for Sherlock Holmes taught me to observe and learn the art of reading the non verbal signs but some of the languages of body and intention.
I’m not a fast learner and I’m none the wiser after my study of banking interactions.
We wait.
JR says how much do we want we let him know.
He tells us something about dollars and I nod thinking I know exactly what he is saying.
End of bank
Where I realise that I should have listened was when we find ourselves negotiating for a sim card in the market place. JR says the words and numbers and talks of Bucks and Gourdes. But none of the maths work out. Now I think I’m ok at arithmetic. Was never that good in darts but when it comes to currencies I’ve got by.
So when a sim card + phone cost about 40 bucks i find it odd that he’s taking 600 Gourdes from me. And that’s my translator. Whoa there... what is this a swindle. He explains several times. I offer a courteous nod. But I have know clue what he’s talking about.
Then when we are sipping a coke later JR explains that on street level everyone talks of the Haitian dollar. The actually currency on paper and the tags on items remains in gourds. Lastly there’s the US dollar that seems to hang in the background as the “parent” currency.
It makes sense... but just not to me.
At least we have a phone. Shame our contacts in St Marc aren’t picking up.
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